(Originally posted HERE.)

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Does this really need an intro?  Sure most, if not all, of us have been here at some point.  This is possibly a new thing I’ll do from time to time, which was inspired by John W. Howell’s Ten 10 Lists on Mondays.

1. You start dreaming about editing and it steadily becomes a nightmare.  Their, there, and they’re attack out of the shadows.  You’re strapped to a chair and forced to watch all of your greatest typos play out in front of a giant crowd.  Also, you’re naked and the dog ate your manuscript.  Not sure where the dog came from, but it looks remarkably like your old English teacher who swore you wouldn’t be able to write your name much less a novel.
2. You sit down to write at the laptop and blast away an epic chapter that is the best you’ve ever done.  Your fingers flew across the keyboard for hours before you celebrate with a drink.  Then you do a spit take when you realize that you forgot to turn the laptop on.
3. You beg the clerk at the supermarket to beta read your shopping list, which you swear is Pulitzer worthy.  Upon getting removed from the premises, you politely request that the police read and review your shopping list on Amazon.  Don’t worry.  You’re sure they won’t be tagged as friends or family.
4. Somebody tore a piece of paper out of your notebook to write down a phone number and message.  You lack the urge to attack and write their obituary in their own blood or at least curse at them.  The revelation that you let it happen results in two hours of the fetal position and praying that the ghost of your favorite author doesn’t punish you for being weak.  If your favorite author is still alive then add another hour of praying that they don’t find out you unintentionally wished death upon them.
5. You catch yourself watching Reality TV.  Worse is that it has given you a story idea that can only be removed with a lobotomy.
6. The taste of coffee no longer appeals to you.  You weren’t a coffee drinker in the first place, but that doesn’t seem to factor into your panic.  Fearing that the end is near, you rush to the nearest clinic and demand a taste bud revitalization procedure.  This is denied, but you were sent away with an assortment of anti-psychotics that all come from a popular company called Placebo Inc.
7. You simply don’t have the energy to talk to or control your characters.  They seem to know what to do, so you’re going to nap while they finish the first draft.  With any luck, the family won’t call an exorcist this time and leave you explaining your author process to Father Bartholomew.  He prefers non-fiction and you write fantasy, so the talks never end well.